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Corellon's Tears
A crisp, early autumn breeze swept through the paths and towers of Evereska. Evening had just fallen and the cloak of brilliant stars began peeking through the branches overhead. Along a narrow, winding path a slight figure walked, a blue-haired elf in her early adolescence, eyes gazing upward towards the darkening skies. Ilmen’lome was on her way home from her lesson with Kilya Ravensong. Having removed her sparring tunic, she was wearing a thin, sleeveless shirt that revealed bruises along her arms, and padded trousers, which appeared rather too large for her frail frame. Slung over the little moon elf’s shoulder was a leather bag, and her feet were bare. The training had been difficult for her, as always, but her spirits were difficult to dampen, especially on an evening such as this. She paid little attention to anything but the blanket of stars overhead as they slowly revealed themselves to her. Scanning the skies above, her eyes finally settled on the string of five stars that made up the constellation the quessir had named Corellon’s Tears, said to be the tears he had shed when his consort, Araushnee, corrupted the dark elves later to become named the drow. As she gazed upon these stars the legend came to her mind of Corellon’s Tears running red at the Fall of Myth Drannor. Ilmen’lome loved tales that conjured thoughts of distant places and grand adventurers, so she listened attentively to their telling. It was becoming dark now and her daydreaming had caused her to become later than normal. The air had cooled so that she could see her breath drift like smoke each time she exhaled. As she hurried her pace homeward, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, a graceful figure who seemed to drift amongst the trees, then vanished from sight within the growing shadows. A feeling of dread seized the young elf and she quickly turned back toward the path, stopping with a gasp. Standing, not ten strides, from her was the figure of a tall sun elf warrior. He wore brilliantly crafted elven plate armor of ancient design, and his long, golden hair stirred unnaturally about his cloaked shoulders. Coal-black eyes regarded young moon elf, then he smiled warmly to her. Ilmen’lome stood still, uncertain who this remarkable elf was. As she watched him with curiosity, she could see through the boughs overhead that Corellon’s Tears seemed to crown his head. Returning his smile, the silver elf stepped forward, but as she moved the elf warrior’s smile began to change, his features twisted wickedly and he teeth seemed to grow into long fangs. Above him Corellon’s Tears were now blood-red. Fear overcame the moon elf’s heart, she turned and fled in a panic, dropping her bag as she ran. She could hear the sun elf’s cackle as he pursued, growing nearer until, finally, his laughter seemed to be all about her. Ilmen’lome came to a halt in a small clearing, her eyes darting around frantically, trying to find this elf that hunted her. The air suddenly grew still, all about her went silent. Panting heavily she kept her gaze to the shadows, but nothing stirred. After several long moments her panic began to subside and she stepped amongst the trees, moving as silently as she could manage. For several minutes she crept through woods, needing desperately to return to the path and find her way home. Just as she could see the trail through the trees before her, the young elf felt a chill upon the back of her neck. She whirled, and found herself gazing into black, soulless eyes. Again the face twisted and she began to back away, eyes wide with terror. The elf warrior drew a long, wicked blade from his belt raised it as if to strike, his body seeming to tower above her. Ilmen’lome cried out and fell back against a tree, holding her arms up before her in a futile attempt to ward the blow. As the sword began to fall, the little moon elf’s vision swirled and went dark. ---- A priest of Corellon Larethian left the room where young Ilmen’lome lay. When she had not returned the previous night her parents had begun a search. Finally, just before noon, she had been found not far from a path near her home, lying curled beneath a tree, unconscious and shivering with cold. She had been returned her home and the priest had tended to her for several hours as the little elf had become hot with fever. In her slumber she had been rambling about an elf warrior and the return of legendary evils. Turning to Ilmen’lome’s mother the priest told her what he’d guessed. The little moon elf seemed to be experiencing the birth of latent magics. What she had seen had been conjurations of her own imaginings and, being so young, she was unable to control this ability. She would need to be sent to the Academy of Magic as soon as she was of age so that she would learn to train and tame this talent. To shape it, with discipline, and study. Category:Stories